I Heard The Dogwhistle Bird Today
by Lawndale Stalker
Summary: In Spring, Jake's fancy turns to thoughts of Lawn Care... and other things.


I HEARD THE DOGWHISTLE BIRD TODAY

By Lawndale Stalker

Jake Morgendorffer ascended the staircase of his uncomfortably quiet house. Helen was working today, as she did most Saturdays, even though she certainly didn't need to. He paused at the top of the stairs and looked down the hall to the two doors at the other end. Daria was away at Raft, and Quinn was with her friends. Jake sighed. Soon Quinn too would be gone. Too soon. He hoped Daria would come back to live with them, at least for a while, when she got out of college. There was so much he'd wanted to say to Daria, but had put off too long… 

Shaking his head, Jake turned and opened his bedroom door, went inside, and closed and locked it behind him. As he passed Helen's vanity, he pulled a tissue and dabbed at his eyes. Going to his nightstand, he took his keys out of his pocket. Selecting the smallest key on the ring, he knelt and unlocked the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Opening the drawer, he removed what appeared to be a leatherbound day planner. From a small wooden tray on top of his chest of drawers, he picked up an elegant black and gold pen. It was his favorite pen, a gift from Daria. 

Crossing the room again, he laid these items on a small writing desk, moved a stack of legal documents from the desk to the floor, and sat down. He opened the planner, which now contained only lined notebook paper, about half of which was written on. Opening the rings, he removed several blank sheets, laid them on the table in front of him, and began to write.

Saturday, 24 March 2001

I heard the Dogwhistle Bird today. I was going to see what was on the sports channels, but I realized that the yard trash truck hadn't come by yet. The oak trees in the front yard had dropped a few last leaves, and I thought, "if I get out there now, I might be able to get the rest of the leaves up and out to the curb before the truck shows up." So I did.

It's a beautiful Spring day here in Lawndale. Sunshine, blue sky, fluffy white clouds, high sixties, a breeze that changes direction two or three times a minute. The azaleas are in full bloom, which means that the front of the house is a riot of color, and the Dogwoods are nearly there. The birds are singing, most notably the Mockingbirds, but others too. The trailing edge of the Robin migration is still hanging around, but they aren't singing. As I worked, I got to thinking of the song of another bird , a song that used to bug the heck out of me, a song that, sometimes, was actually painful.

I never knew the name of this bird. I've tried to look it up, but it is a shy little bird, and it never would let me get close enough to get a good look at it. All I can say is that it's a very small gray bird with no major distinguishing markings. Bird identification books are full of little gray birds like that. So I called it the Dogwhistle Bird after its most unusual feature, its song. Sort of dull as birdsongs go, just "eepeepeepeepeep! Eepeepeep! Eepeepeepeepeepeepeep!" What is unusual about it is its pitch. It's beyond the range of normal human hearing. I've asked many other people, I've described the call, I've even pointed out where the sound was coming from, and no one but Daria and I have ever been able to hear it, even when the bird was nearby and its call was actually hurting my ears. Helen's and Quinn's hearing tests better than normal, but they've both stood right beside me and heard nothing while I've alternately pointed and plugged my ears to block out the tiny varmint's shrieking. I'm pretty sure they thought I was nuts, even though Daria backed me up, till they finally saw the thing once.

Anyway, as I was raking and sweating and enjoying the breeze, I remembered those little birds, and wondered why I hadn't heard them. It occurred to me that my eyesight isn't quite as sharp now as it used to be. I mean, I can still read the paper, but Helen has been hinting that we should go get our eyes checked. By 'we', she means me, of course. Well, a man's arms do tend to start getting shorter after a certain age, but I didn't want to think that my hearing might be starting to go too. And then I heard it. Eepeepeepeepeep! Eepeepeep!

It didn't hurt my ears this time. I didn't see the bird; I guess it was in a neighbor's yard a house or two down, but I heard it. Ol' Jakey's still got the sharpest ears on the block! And the best looking yard, too, by the way.

But I know that someday Spring will come again, and the crocuses, then the redbuds, then the other flowers in their ages-old order will bloom, and the birds will return and sing their old songs again. And the Dogwhistle birds too will return from wherever they spend the winter, and sing their hypersonic serenade, and I won't hear them. 

Jake stopped writing, got up and got a tissue to wipe his eyes. Then he stuck another one in his pocket and returned to the desk.

April Fools will fade into tax day, and tax day into May Day, and I will rake the leaves and trim the azaleas and wonder why the Dogwhistle Birds are so late this Spring, and sooner or later I'll have to admit that it's not them, it's me. 

Jake paused to think, wiped away a couple more tears, and continued.

"So what?" others may say. "I've never heard a Dogwhistle Bird in my life, and I somehow soldier on." True. At that point I'll still have normal or better hearing. For a while. But it'll be another sign, another mile marker passed, another icy breath on the back of my neck. Hearing will go the way of eyesight, and what will be next? I really don't want to know. We all know how it ends up, but few of us want to know all the details of how we get there. I've looked the Reaper in the face, and I'm in no hurry to meet him again, but there's no turning back on that road.

You see, Kiddo, this is why your Mom and I might not always seem to enjoy reading those angsty stories of yours as much as you enjoy writing them. Not that they aren't great. They are. But we're already getting our angst quotas met.

But what the heck. Fol de rol, fiddledy I ay, I heard the Dogwhistle Bird today.

---JM

Jake laid down his pen and read what he had written. Smiling slightly, he squared up the sheets, slipped them back on the open binder rings, and closed them. He closed the book and snapped it, replaced it in his bottom nightstand drawer and locked it. Replacing Helen's papers on the desk and his pen on his chest, he went downstairs in search of something to eat.

LS


End file.
